Red
by Konstantinsen
Summary: An astounding discovery just outside the Eastern border of Germania brings an opportunity to shift the balance of power in Halkeginia. Saito knows what this discovery actually is and, unfortunately, he, Louise, and all their friends are pulled into the fray of a brewing chaos.
1. Chapter 1 - The Site

**NOTE: Okay, right off the bat: I just discovered Familiar of Zero recently and am compelled to write this. Now, I've only seen a few episodes and went through the main storyline on the wiki pages. But I was so amused by how the characters of Halkeginia view modern technology as something beyond arcane.**

**I mean, I cracked up when I found out that the 'Staff of Destruction' was actually a rocket-launcher. Stared at the screen for 3 seconds before bursting into laughter. XD**

**Anyway, feel free to bash me if I'm not getting any of the characters right. Besides, this is just something that I got started on a whim and might add onto if I feel like it.**

* * *

It was quite a sight to behold. The commoner stumbled back onto his carriage, nearly startling the horses into an uncontrolled gallop. There was no malodorous smell that he had expected. But he wished to cover his eyes from what appeared to be the site of an ancient unearthed burial ground.

He had travelled far from the Eastern lands and was nearing the Germanian border when a bright red banner piqued his curiosity. Thinking that a Germanian contingent was encamped nearby, he made to change direction until the thought came to him: Germania never endorsed a red banner—a completely red banner.

He squinted his eyes: the banner wasn't a banner at all. It flowed horizontally in the wind like a flag on a tall pointless spear, the edges of the sheet ripped. It was all in red except for a small yellow emblem on the far corner that he could not discern. Come to think of it, the flag was just a bright red, not bearing any coat of arms.

It bothered him then that if this were not Germanian, then it could be something else, something hostile—orcs or bandits or renegades. He did not know. But he weighed his chances. And against his better judgment, he abandoned the trail and pushed into the woods.

And by the end of the day, he was kneeling before a Germanian captain, feverishly reporting what he had come across and watching the soldier's brows rise with curiosity.

* * *

Kirche Augusta Frederica von Anhalt-Zerbst did not bother herself with politics or state affairs when it came to conversations over the dinner table. However, she spared interest upon mention of a strange discovery just outside the Eastern border of Germania.

Seated across from her father was her cousin, Captain Wolfgang Weigandericht. And he was very animated in his description of their latest find, his eyes ever so glowing as he lightly gestured with growing intrigue.

"...nothing like it at all!"

"Not Elven in nature?" her father asked.

"No, none of it!" Wolfgang spaced his hands, much to the displeasure of the rest of the von Anhalt-Zerbst family. Wolfgang's manners seemed to be waning in his lively display. "Their muskets were technologically advanced. And they weren't even using musket balls."

"Come again?" Kirche turned her head at her father's inquiry, noting the growing curiosity in his voice.

"The ammunition for their muskets weren't musket balls. They were rather these long, pointy, lead sticks. Flat on one end and pointed on the other. Tubular as well."

"And what did the muskets look like?"

"Some of them were much like ours but slightly shorter and a bit heavier. Others were of an unusual design. When we took them apart, we found that the firing mechanism functioned to shoot a number of times consecutively before rearming. And that is not to mention the small telescopes that were mounted on top! It was completely astounding! Such feats of technology—"

"Now, now, Wolfgang," Kirche's mother remarked uneasily from her side, effectively grinding the conversation to a halt. "I believe that further talk of weapons over such a hearty meal would upset our appetite, would it not?"

Wolfgang dropped his hands on his lap and hastily bowed. "I apologize, my dear aunt. I could not help myself."

"Oh, that's alright," Kirche's father boomed, slapping the young captain hard across the shoulder. "_Sehr gut_. We could talk about it later. For now, let's enjoy the meal!"

"There is one thing though," Kirche spoke up, receiving her mother's glare and a look of stern curiosity from her father. "Pardon me for asking, but...where do you think these weapons are from?"

Before her mother made an attempt to further derail the topic, Wolfgang quickly chirped up his reply, "Well, we are surest on one thing: they're neither Elven nor Halkeginian."

* * *

The look on Saito's face remained after Kirche relayed as much as she knew. It was bothersome enough to know that Saito's home—an eerily similar planet called Earth—was so technologically advanced that the people there seemed to have forgotten magic long enough to embrace science as their means of getting by. But it became disturbing when the realization came that with the advent of technology came the development of weapons more powerful than any in all of Halkeginia.

Looking back, Louise Françoise Le Blanc de Hiraga de Ornielleremembered how Saito became so confident at facing Fouquet after learning that the so-called staff of destruction was actually a really big gun from Earth (_"I believe it's an M72 rocket launcher."_) and the damage that it caused to the golem after firing its "rocket".

Along with the fact that Old Osmond received the weapon thirty years prior, most likely during the time of the Vietnam War, then it was more of common sense that these weapons were further developed over those thirty years.

"Saito, what do you think?"

Louise, who had remained silent for the duration of the conversation, turned to her husband, Saito Hiraga, a young man summoned from outside his home in Japan less than two years prior to serve as her familiar. The look he wore bothered her enough. "Saito?"

Hiraga closed his eyes, clearing his mind. _Why does it always have to be the bad things that come here?_ Then he opened them, gazing deeply at the people gathered inside the Void tower of the Tristainian Academy of Magic—Louise, Kirche, Guiche de Grammont, and Montmorency Margarita la Fère de Montmorency.

"You most likely stumbled onto something big, Kirche. Too big for Germania to handle, I'm pretty sure," he answered slowly.

Had he realized that Germania was itself a military superpower, then others would have considered his assessment a grave understatement. Still, there was not much of a reply from them as a series of serious expressions. All of them however asked the same question: _what does that mean?_

"You said that the muskets you found were so advanced in design and fired consecutively without having to be reloaded, right?" he asked.

Kirche nodded.

"And that the bodies that carried them were all dressed in light gray fabric with emblems and britches. Right?"

Kirche nodded again, clearly asking with her furrowed brows where he was going with this.

"And that wasn't all."

"Do I have to repeat everything?"

Saito raised his hand before resting it on his chin. "No." His mind went back to the lessons taught in his classes back in Japan. All the history lessons and his curious ventures in the internet archives; the stories were coming back and they were something that Saito did not want to bring up. But after analyzing the information, it seemed entirely plausible yet so impossible.

"One more thing..."

"Just tell us what it is already," Guiche piped impatiently, ignoring Louise's glare.

"Did they have a red flag? Red or crimson? With a symbol on the edge or something?"

Kirche paused, her eyes looking downward. "He said they found one flag and that it was bright red with a yellow insignia. It was also on the uniforms of some of the bodies."

"Soldiers. They're dead soldiers," Saito deadpanned.

"What?"

"Red flag. Yellow insignia." _Let me guess: a hammer and a sickle...or a star._

"You keep repeating what I just said. Is it something from Earth?"

Saito nearly paled. _It is._ For the first time since the Ancient Dragon crisis, the power of the Void mages would again be put in danger but not through dangerous consummation of magic. If his theory was correct, then a whole battalion of troops from Earth ended up here in Halkeginia with all their equipment and probably died off outside the Germanian border.

There were a lot of questions that began swirling in his mind that combed through the details of Kirche's account such as what exactly had killed them. But the fact of the matter remained: a division of well-armed soldiers crossed into Halkeginia and died here, their weapons—most of them, he considered—were now in the hands of the Germanians. And that was the least of his worries.

"Saito, Saito..."

He snapped out of his thoughts, looking at the small hand on his shoulder and then back at Louise's pink eyes, concern weaving through them. He forced out a smile.

"Seriously, are you alright? You're worrying us too, you know," Montmorency remarked.

"It's from Earth, alright."

Kirche tossed her hands up in the air. "Founder, finally! I thought you wouldn't say that."

"So there is another Steel Dragon?" Guiche asked.

"No. It's not an air division. It's more of a ground force that went through the Void without knowing it and probably ended up biting the dust before they could come into contact with anyone here."

A moment of silence followed as everyone digested what he just said. "So you're saying that someone summoned a whole army here?"

Saito shrugged. "Either that or they walked through a stray portal, you tell me."

All eyes promptly turned to Louise. She threw them all a desperate glare finding herself cornered, her husband in deep thought, staring at her as though she had committed a heinous crime. She stuttered. "D-don't look at me like that. I have nothing to do with it! I-in a-all honesty!"

"It's not that."

"No, we all saw the World Door." _But is it even possible for it to stretch big enough to stomach a whole lot of troops? Unless they marched through in single file?_

"So it has to be a really powerful Void mage then," Guiche began, rubbing his chin. As far as he or anyone else knew, there have only been a handful Void mages since Brimir's passing—the deceased King Joseph of Gallia, his daughter Josette, Pope Vittorio of Romalia, the elf Tiffania Westwood, and Louise. Even then, none of them could have had the amount of power required to summon an entire army. Unless they were summoned by Brimir himself or so the theory would go.

"Or a stray element. Not one Void mage that we know of is powerful of ever summoning something that vast," Kirche rebutted. "Wolfgang said that the number of bodies went up to over fifty. That including all their weapons, rations, and machines."

"Machines?"

"Oh, I honestly forgot. Wolfgang wasn't sure what they were but this army also had Steel Salamanders or something." The Germanian recalled Flame, comparing her familiar with her cousin's description of the things.

"Or tanks," Saito remarked, noting the confusion. He sighed. "War machines with large cannons."

"War machines?"

Saito raised his hands, spacing them apart. "Big steel vehicles with a large cannon, typically—"

"_Typically_?" Montmorency asked, the worry audible in her voice. "So it's _typical_ for these machines to at least have a cannon?"

"Okay, so we get it. They're war machines," Kirche interrupted. "He said they found nearly twenty of them, covered in rust and rooted to the ground that they needed earth mages to move them."

"That's because they need fuel."

"Excuse me?"

Saito grunted. Explaining all this equipment to them would further sidetrack what he wanted to know. Besides, he had a limited scope in military weaponry until the magic of the Gandálfr were to imbue him with such knowledge. "I'll explain later. You know what? I think this is something that Old Osmond should—"

"Are you sure about that?" Louise asked, finally making herself known after being ignored through most of the discussion much to her chagrin.

"Remember the staff of destruction? It would probably be the same case," Guiche began before being cut off by Montmorency and then by Kirche until all three were bickering over the repercussions of divulging such a secret.

But their voices seemed to go mute in Saito's ears as he stared emptily into the wall. In his mind, he hoped that whatever these men brought with them were just conventional weapons. He looked back at the history lessons: Hiroshima and Nagasaki. And then the Cold War. And then the missiles. That brought another alarming question: considering the size of the battalion, did they have a nuke with them? He shook his head—it was ridiculous. No army wouldn't be that desperate to leave a warhead with their troops...

"...unless they carried them."

The banter between the magi ceased. "What?"

"...unless they were transporting..." Saito paled again into a deeper white until he made a realization that he hoped was false. "...it can't be. No." _Ridiculous. It has to be._

"Saito?"

"Saito, is there something wrong?"

"You are really bothering us right now."

He looked at them, not sure of what to say next, his thoughts still focused on his seemingly absurd theory. _Maybe they weren't transporting._

* * *

**NOTE: By the way, this here is just the first segment of a really long story that I wrote down. I'm only posting the first part here because I'm not sure if the rest of the story would really fit in with the original elements of Familiar of Zero.**

**Still, I'm sorry if I pissed anyone off with inaccuracies. I just wanted to get this off my chest today.**


	2. Chapter 2 - The Elements

**NOTE: Alright, here's the second part. I spent nearly a whole week writing the story, rewriting some parts, proofreading, and...pretty much spazzing over Familiar of Zero while trying to be as accurate as I want to.**

**I decided to incorporate at best elements of both the Light Novels and the Anime (though, to be honest, I don't have much time for both as the second college semester is coming up at the time of this upload). I thank you all for your suggestions and the reviews and I hope that this would be a good follow-up.**

**Also, I've been listening to these tracks several times...over and over...while writing this. I suggest giving them an ear**** while you read this chapter because they've been my muse/s...or "themes" or whatever you like to call it for the story:**

** - "Russians" by Sting (listen to the Live in Berlin version...the one with the orchestra)**

** - "Russian Deliberations", Modern Warfare 2 soundtrack**

** - "The Cossacks" by the Red Army Choir**

* * *

The area of this "archaeological discovery" was sufficiently cordoned off and placed under Germanian jurisdiction, therefore annexing the territory temporarily. There was minimal to no outside protest to the move partly because it was nigh secretive but mainly because there was no other sovereign power that bordered Germania to the East. Even then, the minor powers that did gladly turned a blind eye particularly because the forest and outlying terrain were wild territory.

The mage finished his incantation and raised his wand. In front of him was a large strange vehicle of sorts. It had wheels after all—several big black wheels that were not made of wood but of some thick rubbery substance. It was huge and carried an equally sizable steel column on its back. He compared the machine to a wheeled snail, guessing at the weight of the giant tube it appeared to carry. _Odd metal caskets._ For one, there was a red star painted on the side.

"Stand aside!" he commanded to the soldiers. The men obediently stepped backwards giving room for the mage to direct his arcane arts at the thing.

At that moment, the vehicle began to float. It rose above the ground slowly, reaching a height of three feet before the soldiers noticed that the mage doing the levitating began to sweat profusely, the veins in his hands becoming apparent. It didn't take long before he was forced to lower the thing back down and rest.

"I need help. Call the others!" he barked at a young swordsman.

So far, his orders were to investigate and transport as much of these mechanical monstrosities to Vindobona, the capital of Germania. There was not much to investigate so all that was left was to heft these gargantuan steel horseless carriages and their giant steel columns to the capital. Such a simple task was becoming a vain effort and although possible to levitate them, it seemed that the effort needed to carry one across short distances would require the strength and willpower of ten more of his skill.

He cursed at the rusting trailer. _Why not just officially annex this damn patch of land and study it here, for Founder's sake! _Whatever these objects were, they were something of great interest. The rifles they found were intriguing enough. It seemed like the guns just kept getting bigger and bigger. _Why can't they just be some damned cannons? At least they'd be lighter than this ugly piece of trash._

At least he was comfortable with a few facts. First off, it was kept a secret from Romalia which most knew—and further highlighted by their Alliance—kept an extensive cache of strange weapons and equipment that bordered along these lines of peculiarity. It was a good thing that they were unable to reproduce them let alone use them, or so the Pope claimed. _Not like those Holy Men would find use for any of them, anyway. _The faster they could figure out how these damn things worked before the Romalians did for their own, the better for them.

Second, upon further observation, the tubes on the backs of these machines appeared to be lacking something at the front—much like an arrow without an arrowhead. He shrugged it off. Whatever was there is gone now. And it was good that it was gone because there wouldn't be any added weight to it. _Not that it would ever matter_, he incorrectly judged.

* * *

Simon was a man of age and repute. His years of managing _Der Feueratem_—a popular tavern close to the central plaza of Vindobona—had chiseled for him an image that he proudly disported to both the plebes and the nobility. In fact, Emperor Albrecht III at one point had consulted his opinion concerning a minor scuffle between an ill-advised noble and a hardboiled commoner.

As such, he was the man who was known throughout Germania as the Iron Barman. A fitting title, he thought as he crossed that and the name of the tavern which roughly translated to "fire-breath". After all, iron and steel became stronger the more they were put through the furnace.

Because of all this, anyone came to him for advice and support—including rebels and military officials. Simon knew how easily it was to fool these people so he gladly (ubiquitously) accepted the role of information trafficker. Although this would have earned him a swift trial and execution, his stubborn stiffness of neutrality was what prevented such a fate. Besides, most of the time, the empire thought he was helping them while the rebels thought he was a fighter of the cause. It was a fun role, being in the middle of the conflict and pulling strings from behind to make the drama more exciting.

Wolfgang seemed to have forgotten this important fact as he downed his third brew of the night, even forgetting that he would resume his post tomorrow at the "site".

"The muskets were strange..." he gargled.

"_Ja_, we all know that!" a patron barked.

"What else aside from the damn guns?" another demanded, his ire fueled by his inebriety.

Simon shared his attention to the discussion mainly because it was information being spilled in a bar through intoxication. The rebels would pay something for this. Though it did bother him that the muskets Wolfgang described sounded eerily familiar.

"But then we have another one!" the Captain heaved, taking another swig. He held to the table to keep from falling down. "Founder! It was big!"

He flailed his right hand, trying aimlessly to gesticulate the image in his head. "Cannons! Wheels and cannons!"

The tenants scoffed. "It's probably some kind of artillery from Albion!"

"Didn't look like that to me!"

"Well prove it!"

"The flags!" The Captain hiccupped. "The flags were red! All red...and had a yellow...symbol...like...some kind of hammer crossing with a...sickle."

Simon's heart stopped. He quickly eyed the Captain who was already halfway to the floor. _Hammer against a sickle._ His imagination worked. And imagination turned into memory. A memory that resurfaced after years of menial labor.

"My God," he mouthed in a language no one ever understood.

"Hey, Simon! Do you believe this guy?" one of his regulars asked before he and his companions burst into laughter at the unconscious captain on the floor. "Red flag? Germania doesn't have a red flag, _dummkopf_!"

The barman feigned humor but inside, he fought the growing urge to run to the back and activate the ham radio that he kept hidden for the past thirty years.

"_Bozhe moy_."

* * *

Marshal of Tristain Gorian Vorovian heard the faint buzz coming from the secret compartment in the cabinet of his office. He froze in place, his ears listening tentatively as the buzz continued, only increasing in volume. He was grateful that it was late and he was by himself in his office but he slowly berated himself for having nowhere else to hide his relic of the past.

He quickly checked the corridor, noting that there was no one about. Even Agnès was busy (_drilling_) tending to the guards somewhere far from here. That was good. He locked the doors, pulled the curtains, and proceeded to pull open the first two upper drawers of his cabinet. The lock mechanism deactivated and the board below the main compartment that typically bore nothing but an ornate carving came loose, flopping down to the carpet and revealing a secret wooden vault. Gorian removed the chain from his neck and inserted the key into the hole.

The ham radio was still in pristine condition after all these years. He picked up the receiver and increased the volume. Stretching the antenna further, he adjusted it so as to collect the right frequency until he could hear the coded messages from a familiar voice.

"..._UVB-77. Mikhail, Natasha, Vladimir, Vissarion. UVB-77, UVB-77. Mikhail, Natasha, Vladimir, Vissarion_..."

Gorian flipped the switch on his receiver and echoed in. "Signal acknowledged. Identify." He spoke in a tongue foreign to Halkeginia.

There was a brief pause on the other end. Then came a loud sigh and the first words ever to be heard on a device that was not supposed to exist in this realm. Well, not until the next few centuries.

"Yegor, I thought I would never hear your voice again," a gruff voice bellowed through the receiver.

"Semyon, you could have called at a later time."

"Oh? And what concerns the Marshal that I should not have disturbed him?"

Gorian chuckled, mainly at the similarity of his old name with his new name. "I have to look over the Queen's army. What else?"

"Ah, yes. The griffons and the dragons. Such a young lady wouldn't be able to handle hardened riders like that, no?"

"I revere the Queen, brother." He refrained from using the word 'comrade'. "Regardless, I would kill to have a break like this." It felt so good to chat in his native tongue with another native speaker after so long.

"Come over to Germania then, you twat. I told you last time that everything you'll order will be on the house."

"We'll see how diplomacy would react to that."

Both men laughed over the frequency. And it was just that quick that Gorian dropped the lightness of his aura and settled into his commander's tone. "Alright, Semyon. What is it?"

On the other end of the line, he could imagine the man narrow his eyes and clear his throat. "They found them."

Gorian's blood nearly ran cold. "Come again?"

"They found the men. Or what's left of them, to be precise."

The Marshal let out a long controlled breath. The past was catching up to them and at such a fragile time as well. "Everything?"

"Almost."

"Tell me."

* * *

Simon breathed. He had retreated to his make-shift communications room hidden behind the bookshelf in his quarters as soon as the tavern had closed down for the night. The servants were asleep and the only other people awake were the five guards he hired. All of whom were completely unaware of his secret cavern.

"You know of the 'Eastern Germanian Archeological Site'?"

"Yes, of course. It is imperative that the respective leaders of the Alliance's member states are to share such affairs wi—"

"The 'Site', Yegor," he nearly growled. "Tell me what that implies."

Semyon waited for the reply, dreading the moment of silence. He heard a muffled cuss from the other side. "How much have they uncovered?"

"Almost everything from what I hear. I thought you were supposed to know."

"I told you before. The Emperor only reveals the icing on the cake and that's as much as any alliance would allow. How much do _you_ know?"

"They have the guns. The tanks. The trucks. Hell, even the damn equipment we used to dismantle the fucking things in the first place! They're storing them all here in Vindobona!" Simon instinctively looked behind him, knowing that the thick walls could muffle a gunshot. Still, he mentally scolded himself for being so loud.

"Everything?"

"I'm not so sure."

Gorian's tone grew dim, much to his unease. He didn't have to say it was a serious matter. Anything discussed over the ham radio was serious enough considering that the device did not have that much power left and the concept of batteries were still in the minds of unborn inventors. "Where exactly in Vindobona?"

"I don't know. I heard that they were all here. Just that. Then the numbskull fell flat on his face, out cold." The barman drew a long breath. "He even described our flag, Yegor."

"_Our_ flag? _The_ flag?"

"Yes. And the uniforms we wore. He's been droning on and on about it since last week."

"I would have shot your informant for treason if I were a Germanian officer."

"Well, it's no secret as everyone knows about it now." And by everyone, Simon meant his regulars—both the renegades who were fighting with a commoner rebellion _and_ the officials who suppressing this rebellion. It was a mess of an audience and amazing enough that there were no attempts or assassinations in his tavern so far. "Lately, they have an expeditionary force scrounging up the remains."

"Mages?"

The barman scoffed. "Obviously."

"Any attempts at the Site?"

"Attempts? You mean like sabotage?"

"_Da_."

Simon rubbed his chin. "None, so far. Even with this information out and about, I doubt that any resistance movement would make a move on it...yet. I'm not so sure."

"Hm, well...that being said..." Static. "Keep me informed, Semyon."

"What are you going to do?"

"Research. Do you remember where we buried them?"

"The heads?"

"Yes, the heads," Gorian angrily retorted. He had not liked the news; then again, at this point he didn't have much like for anything else.

There was another drawn out pause where both sides could hear the other scratching their chin. "I remember," Simon finally replied confidently. "Why?"

"After I'm done researching, we'll relocate the damn things."

"What!"

"Trust me, Semyon. Do you want them to discover _those_ too?"

Simon breathed. "You're right. So what now?"

"As I said: keep me informed. I'll let you know when I'm ready to head out. You should be too."

At that, the line went dead leaving Simon with nothing but static.

* * *

Gorian returned the ham radio back in its place in the compartment. As he retreated to his desk, he pulled open a drawer and extracted his personal journal, its pages filled and brimming with ripped notes belonging to his former colleagues from a bygone era.

He ran his fingers across his mustache, flicking through his latest entries. He personally knew the Queen's proclaimed sister, Crown Princess of Tristain Louise Françoise Le Blanc de Hiraga de Ornielle, as well as her husband Saito Hiraga. It was plain obvious from his appearance that the fiery young man was not from Halkeginia. _The kid wore a damn flannel jacket._ Then her family, the Duke and Duchess de La Vallière, a prominent name in this feudal realm and also a family he had associated himself with. He had seen Karin in her prime, after all. _And she still is_, he thought.

But he was more focused on the Japanese boy—_no, man_—from his old world. Although it wasn't obvious, he was sure Hiraga had suspected him of being from Earth. _Might as well spill the beans next time._

He checked his calendar. The Queen had to attend to several public appointments, the efforts aimed to mend the dented relationship between the social classes. Sometimes, the couple would be around to support her endeavors. But he did not have the patience to wait for the next festival in order to casually meet the youths.

He needed to talk to Saito as soon as possible. They may not have had much liking for the other but the young lad carried with him a strong reputation. He was, by far, the best instrument to dealing with this dilemma. He was still in his youth, probably just turned twenty, and that would be enough of assistance. But he could wait another week, right? No, he shook his head.

He was a Marshal. He was an army officer with a military force under his belt. Why else would he wait for a rather unimportant event just to see someone when he could just call him up here? However, that would mean having to go through the Queen first and he was not in the proper mood to trudge through the bureaucracy of meeting with her. Obviously, he would be forced to let her in on something like this. _Not just yet._

He closed his journal and extinguished the lights in his office. It was already in the dark early morning hours. The Queen was definitely asleep and so was Cardinal Mazarin. And like hell was he even going to tell Agnès anything though it did have a possibility of becoming a threat to Her Highness. Gorian cursed his predicament, unintentionally slamming the double doors of his office shut.

"A little agitated?"

He whirled around, shining his lamp at her. "I'm stressed."

Agnès huffed, crossing her arms. "Don't think you're the only one."

"What do you want?"

"Just doing my rounds."

Gorian mumbled something incoherent before passing by her on his way to his quarters. Agnès, Captain of the Musketeer Force of Tristain, decided to let it go. She was simply too tired to bicker with the Marshal. Besides, he had a whole army to manage. Compared to her command, she only held a contingent of riflemen which was also part of the royal guard. She watched his head bob across the hall and down the stairwell.

_What the hell is his problem anyway?_

* * *

"And to think Romalia was unaware of this," Old Osmond pondered. "That is indeed troublesome."

"It is as long as the tanks themselves aren't operational," Saito said. Upon his urging, Kirche had decided to bring the matter up during the break between classes to the Academy in the hopes that a proper analysis would be drawn from the issue. Together with Saito and Louise, she mustered the confidence to share what felt like a government secret. And as such, it was necessary to summon the institute's avid researcher, Jean Colbert, to the headmaster's office at the top of the Academy tower.

"How so?" Osmond inquired.

"Much like the Ostland, these tanks require gasoline"—he looked around, correctly guessing the confusion at the term—"or the 'blood of the dragon' to function. By Kirche's account, it would sound like the machines are too derelict to even work."

"Does that mean that these tanks cannot operate even if we feed them the 'dragon's blood'?" Colbert asked.

Saito nodded. He could sense a wave of relief stretch over the rest of those present in the headmaster's office.

"Are you sure?" Louise muttered.

"I'm sure of it." _At least, for now. _"Right, Kirche?"

The redhead agreed.

"However, you did mention about the muskets," Osmond continued.

"Yes," Kirche agreed. "But I believe Saito knows more about them. Right, Saito?"

Saito nodded again. "They're assault rifles."

"Assault...rifles?"

"Yes. They're designed to shoot several times before reloading." He cupped the air in front of him, as though holding a gun, and began mimicking the recoil of full automatic fire. "Thirty bullets per clip, if I recall correctly. Then you simply remove the magazine, feed in another one, and start shooting again."

Looking at Colbert, it was clear that the professor did not find any comfort in the explanation. Despite the rather sophisticated terminology, it was understood from his tone that the guns were very _bad_. "Such devastating weapons. I thought your country wasn't at all bothered by war."

"As of now, it isn't. But decades before I was born..." He trailed off, remembering Siesta's stories of her great grandfather.

"You do not need to elaborate any further," Osmond said. "The power of the Gandálfr has given you knowledge of your world's armaments. It is best if we inform the Pope in earnest."

"I guess we can all agree to tha—"

"Not just yet," a deep voice boomed from the doorway.

All heads turned to the royal messenger, Count Mott, as he strode towards Osmond's table, unrolling a scroll. He ignored the animosity of the room drawn from his mere presence. "The Queen has ordered that Lord Saito Hiraga de Ornièlle and Her Highness Louise Françoise Le Blanc de Hiraga de Ornièlle be summoned to the royal palace immediately."

"What for?"

"The Queen believes that it concerns an on-going affair in Germania. However, that is as far as she has revealed. This is a direct order and as such, you must obey." The Count glanced at Saito with contempt, remembering the ordeal over Siesta. "I recommend you go now."

"Hmph, very well," Louise muttered. She waved her wand, reciting the incantation for the World Door spell. Mott gawked as the portal began to form. Beyond it, he could make out the elaborate interiors of the royal palace at Tristainia. And to think that he had been using carriages for transportation all this time.

Kirche approached the portal out of curiosity before being stopped by the Count. "The Queen only wishes to see Lord de Ornièlles and his wife." The redhead grunted as she stepped back.

Saito took Louise's hand and pushed across the void. He paused midway through. "Headmaster, are you going to send word to the Pope?"

"Perhaps, another time." Osmond's eyes told him the rest: _It's about our little discussion. Best to keep it from spreading to anyone else...not even to the Church._

With that, Count Mott and the de Ornièlles stepped through the portal.

* * *

**NOTE: If any of you guys are wondering what "UVB-77" is all about, I suggest you look up "UVB-76" on Wikipedia.**


	3. Chapter 3 - The Purpose

**NOTE: Third one up. Thanks again for the reviews and considering the stark differences between the novels and the anime... Meh, I'll just keep writing. Accuracy-wise, it will all have to depend on a lot of factors.**

**But for the plot of this story, well...fan fiction authors like to tweak some things a bit, right? I wouldn't be able to satisfy all audiences but then again, you can't satisfy everyone, _'di ba_?**

* * *

"What?"

Saito and Louise eyed each other as Henrietta was forced to repeat her order. The Count had been sent away leaving Cardinal Mazarin standing passively beside his liege.

"The Marshal wants an audience with all three of us."

"Is this about Germania?"

"I believe so. He said it was of great importance and that he wanted to see us immediately."

Saito looked back again at Louise, receiving her curious stare. _This might get a bit interesting._ They turned to Henrietta and nodded.

At that, Mazarin offered his hand and led them to the Marshal's office. Normally, leading nobles to the attention of an important non-magic user would mean that an issue of sizeable magnitude has presented itself. The fact that the nobles in question were royalty—the Queen herself, even—meant that the magnitude was somewhere near grave.

Though plebes often shared government and military positions with the nobility, their reach of power was only limited to the equivalent of the rank of Marshal and that was as far as the patience of the nobility were concerned in the role of commoners in managing their society.

As such, the high class of Tristain tolerated if not admired Gorian's position mainly due to his surprising skill and brilliance. The man had—after all—took over the formerly demoralized Tristainian troops upon Marshal De Poitier's death during the Reconquista-backed coup, reorganized them into a formidable fighting force, and indirectly helped Saito and his mage companions in challenging the might of Tristain's invaders.

The man himself was stocky and scarred but violent and merciless. The battle-ready face he so frequently donned quickly melted away into a jovial smile every time he would meet with the Queen or anyone he respected regardless of social class. At least, in public.

"Marshal."

Gorian bowed elegantly. "Your Majesty."

"I believe you remember the Hero of Tristain," Queen Henrietta gestured to her two companions, "Duke Saito Hiraga de Orniélle and his wife, the Void mage and Crown Princess Duchess Louise Françoise Le Blanc de Hiraga de Orniélle."

"I do, Your Majesty. Quite fondly, I remember our previous associations." Gorian smiled at the couple, amazed at how young they were. If only he could return the vigor of his youth then he probably wouldn't have to worry about back pain every time he fell prostrate before his superiors.

"Marshal," the two youths returned the greeting, Saito eyeing him with tense curiosity recalling the mess with the Reconquista. The Marshal spoke with a distinct and familiar accent.

"Now that we have gathered, may I request for privacy?"

Henrietta turned to her advisor; Mazarin nodded and quietly excused himself out of the Marshal's office. Thank goodness that Agnès wasn't with them. As soon as the doors closed, Gorian dropped his façade, his eyes boring holes deep into his guests. He didn't care if it unnerved anyone—he could swiftly deal with them with his veined, calloused, arthritic hands. Decades of servitude yet his strength still remained albeit slightly reduced.

Henrietta frowned as well, making Saito and Louise curious and nervous at the sudden change in atmosphere.

Gorian folded his arms. "Your Majesty," he began darkly. "I wish to enlist the aid of Lord Saito Hiraga de Orniélle for an important mission."

Saito's eyes went wide as Louise made an attempt to interrupt. Henrietta quickly raised her palm, holding them back.

"The Marshal and I often discuss this way in private," the Queen explained, "Agnès often thinks he's a threat because of the scowl he frequently puts on."

Gorian scoffed. "So they say."

"So why exactly do you need me?" Saito asked guardedly.

The Marshal caught Louise's glare, rolling his eyes just to peeve her. He loved doing that to those arrogant nobles—_proud little pricks_. "Saito, I mean no disrespect. I need your ass, I need your sword, and I need your brains."

Derflinger chafed. "I have a name, you know." The sword clapped its hilt to further prove its point in existence.

"You're...so blunt," Louise icily remarked.

Henrietta sighed. "It's alright, Louise. He's...just like that..."

"Just like that?" she spat, "No respect? No recognition of authority?" Her fierce glare growled the words: _how dare that man!_

Gorian nearly laughed at Louise's reaction. No doubt Saito also gave him an angry look for aggravating his wife. She was, after all, beautiful and petite. Had she a better bosom, he would have spared her a glance of malicious admiration. "Anyway, I'm sure you're wondering what the job is. Have you heard of the 'Eastern Germanian Archeological Site'?"

Saito and Louise fell daftly silent. Henrietta glanced back between her friends and the Marshal. It quickly became apparent she was the only one who had the least knowledge about that particular Germanian affair. She wanted to be clued in—she was the Queen after all and alliances be damned if anything threatened the safety her people. As such, her idle curiosity quickly manifested through a stern order.

"Saito, Louise," she slowly began. "Is there something that I'm missing here? As far as I know, it's nothing more than an archaeological discovery."

They turned to her. "I'm sorry, Your Majesty. But...well, it's complicated."

"Then explain, young man," Gorian ordered for the Queen.

The couple gave him a quick look over before proceeding. "It's mainly from Kirche, really. She has a cousin who serves as the border guard over there and they discovered something."

Gorian clapped his hands. "Ah, Kirche von Anhalt-Zerbst? I know her father. Good man." _Of course, the Germanians! If they're not too stiff with their posts, then they're drinking off their asses at the bars, telling everyone their wonderful secrets._ He grinned. _Much like us._ If only Kirche had known that she closely bore the same name as Catherine the Great...

"Anyway," Saito continued, "she told us that they uncovered the remains of a fully-armed division of soldiers...from my world...from Earth."

Henrietta raised a brow. "From...Earth?"

"Yes. They also found advanced guns and machines called 'tanks'." Hiraga glanced at the Queen, slightly annoyed that she didn't understand what 'tanks' were. He'd had more than enough explaining of how those moving track cannons worked. "Advanced war machines that could level a city with ease."

"An accurate description, I should say," Gorian added.

"I would like to know where you're going with this, Marshal," Henrietta said.

"Very well, Your Majesty." Vorovian walked casually to his desk, brushed aside the ornaments, and unrolled a map over it. He gestured towards them to look and ran his finger across the Eastern border of Germania, following a red line—among many multi-colored lines—he had drawn himself and running them around a circle he had marked an inch from the black borderline. "This is the location of the Site, currently placed under Germanian sovereignty. I need you there, Saito."

"Why?" the three asked almost simultaneously.

"Because." Gorian cleared his throat. "Basing upon knowledge of the Void and the capabilities of the technologies that are being brought through the Void here from Earth, I have reason to believe that Germania has come across advanced weaponry that can rip apart our defenses and destroy cities in minutes. I suspect that they intend to reverse-engineer this technology to further bolster their military power." His whole reason was half-truth and half-exaggeration. Besides, experience was enough to tell him how easily it would be for a tank to level a village without even stopping for a break. And what kind of high-ranking military officer got by without a decent bout of paranoia?

"Thus, I propose a preemptive strike against the Site with the sole purpose of destroying the weapons before they could be studied."

He could feel the atmosphere around him choke. "The Germanians may be barbaric and fearsome..." Henrietta hesitated, watching her subordinate's eyes, looking for that spark of curiosity that so often fueled his drive to do his job. "...but it would risk the Alliance."

"I am aware of that. However, I believe it is in a matter of national security." _What a term_, Gorian thought. _'National security'... Haven't used that in a while._ "To protect our borders and our people, we have to investigate all possible threats and make every effort to crush them."

Saito knew that kind of talk. He had played video games with themes of war and more often than not, that kind of rhetoric was what fueled big countries to invade other countries. Like America. But America was mild, more so restrained in its assertions of ensuring global peace. It was just that recognizable tone of aggression that made him shift in his spot. He _heard_ those words before. As though from a video game based on the real thing...

"I am not at all pleased by your reason, Marshal," Henrietta echoed. Louise nodded agreement, wanting her presence to be acknowledged for once.

Gorian straightened his back, locking deep into the Queen's eyes. "Your Majesty, I am only requesting for your permission to conduct an expedition into the Far West to further ensure our safety."

"Safety from what?"

Her rebuttal was strong. Well, two could play at that game. "From Germania. And Gallia. And Albion. And all those who dare to shatter the peace of Tristain."

Henrietta didn't like what she heard. Nonetheless, he did have a point. It was clear that at this juncture in her reign, the Alliance that helped bind the peace of Halkeginia—its necessity brought about by the Ancient Dragon crisis—was teetering over a high cliff. Germania began asserting its military dominance over the continent. Gallia was having a large debacle with its interior ministers. Albion was struggling to keep the peace with its commoner folk. And even the Holy Romalian Empire shuddered under a growing theological conflict to the point that the leaders of Halkeginia were casting doubts on the Church's authority to overrule their decisions. At least the Elves were becoming more apathetic following the cessation of the crusades.

"And what makes you so confident that such things are taking place?" Louise challenged, stepping forward.

The Marshal narrowed his eyes at her. "Your Highness, I come across reports of our country's internal and external affairs every day. It is part of my job as the Field Marshal of Tristain. I have to deal with these problems all the time from dusk 'til dawn and it often comes to a boiling point."

Louise felt intimidated but kept up her confidence. She did not like losing to people. She had gone through enough of that at the Academy. "_This _is the boiling point? Threatening to ignite a war in order to prevent one from happening? Sounds insane."

Gorian felt the need to strangle the brat. "Your Highness, what then would you suggest? Let them grow and develop these arms? Ultimately, we are going to end up facing them on a mismatched battlefield one way or another. You might live long enough to see it."

The Void mage growled, refusing to acknowledge his point. He _was _right. She had to concede just as her best friend did. She glared fiercely at him, her teeth biting the inside of her lips just to suppress her growing animosity for the arrogant commoner.

"Marshal."

All heads turned to Saito. He had his hands spread across the map, head bowed.

"Saito?"

Gorian beamed lightly. _At least the boy understands me now more than these stubborn young ladies._ "Saito. What is your opinion?"

Duke de Orniélle raised his head, his face bearing a strong, confident, and almost resigned expression. "...I will accept your mission under certain circumstances."

Louise felt her heart stop. It was happening all over again—Saito departing for a dangerous assignment, leaving his fate to a gamble of skill and chance. The pain of losing him before was unbearable. She gazed with undisguised horror at her husband and then with boiling rage at the man who wanted to put him in harm's way for something so base. "Saito..."

"Saito," Henrietta said. "You don't—"

"What are your circumstances?" Gorian asked.

"First off, I would not be going alone."

It was a shocking statement to the two ladies but a waiting challenge for the men. The Marshal willingly accepted. "Agreed. Who would form your party?"

"I want to take Louise with me—"

"What!" Louise screamed. Henrietta gawked, wondering whether they had lost their minds.

Saito raised his hand, counting off the names with his fingers. "Louise, Kirche, and the Undine Knights."

Gorian frowned at the concession. Come to think of it, Louise would gladly follow her husband anywhere, as far as he cared. Likewise, her power was something to fear. Kirche von Anhalt-Zerbst was herself a troublesome daughter; even then, she had had her own share of combat experience, making her somewhat suitable. The Undine Knights though, in his view, were more of a ragtag group of battle-hungry amateurs led by a hopeless romantic. But he really didn't give a damn about any of them anyway. _Really_, he wondered, _bring in your classmates? No elite troops? Not even the Griffin Corps or the Manticore Knights? You really trust your friends over their adeptness._

"Very well. Proceed."

"Saito..."

"Second, I don't want this to be a covert operation. I want that the Germanians be made aware of this. I can't guarantee you stealth, Marshal, but I also can't guarantee you a victory against a million-strong army." Albion was a good reminder of that.

"Agreed." That, however, meant going through the more troublesome bureaucracy and having to take several steps just to see the Queen was enough of a pain in the back. Still, it made things safer if not even more complicated. The original plan was clandestine but he had to admit that it entailed a far too great a risk. However, he was willing to face Emperor Albrecht III, a sideline reason being the urge to yell in his face for the fun of it.

"Lastly, I want your active involvement in this." He balled his hand into a fist which he pointed at the officer. "And by active involvement, I want to see you at least within sight of where we are."

_Clever._ The Marshal smiled, slightly taken aback by such a brave move. Drag everyone into the danger zone. Whoever gets out alive has attained the primary objective. "You wouldn't have to worry about that. I have eyes everywhere." Which wasn't particularly true in every sense of it but the message was clear. "I will be personally monitoring your progress and the assessment of the findings at the Site as well, mind you. This is my mission after all."

"I believe you are mistaken, Marshal."

Gorian turned sharply to the Queen. "I beg your pardon, Your Majesty."

"It is not just your mission. It is _our_ mission bearing the banner and authority of Tristain. As such, ultimate jurisdiction and administration of this assignment falls upon me."

"Yes, Your Majesty."

"You are allowed to make your plans. Nonetheless, bear in mind that you cannot push through without my permission. For now, I order you to stay put until I inform you otherwise. Are we understood?"

The Marshal took the break in the conversation to mentally curse the Queen over his loyalty to her. "Yes, Your Majesty."

"I will inform you whether I approve of your excursion or not. Expect my reply in three days."

With that, Henrietta walked to the door and knocked. It creaked open and Cardinal Mazarin warmly received his master in the hallway. He noted how shaken Her Majesty seemed to be, much to his worry. He didn't know that Henrietta confronted her Marshal with an outwardly strong statement backed by poor confidence.

Inside the office, the Marshal exhaled long through his nostrils and sat down on his chair. He ignored the presence of the couple until one of them cleared her throat loud enough for him to hear. Louise was quite annoyed but he knew she was deftly worried by what they had discussed. _As expected of loving wives._ Saito remained stone-faced, looking once more at the map and then back at him.

"You heard Her Majesty. We can go through this over and over again, refining and reorganizing. But we cannot proceed without Her Majesty's authorization."

"Good riddance," Louise spat. "I doubt she'd even consider it."

Gorian huffed. "She will see the need."

"You can't just bring this on all of us!"

"I didn't."

"Yes, you did! You summon us here, tell us to go on a daring raid, and even spare no decent respect for your superiors. You even think you know how Henrietta thinks. You're despicable!"

"Your shitty attitude is worth the kick of a hundred horses," Vorovian sneered, almost beaming at the pained expression on the young noble's face.

Saito reacted immediately to the insult and before he knew it, he had Derflinger's edge scratching the skin of the Marshal's throat, the rune on his hand purposefully glowing with vibrant intensity while he held Louise close to himself, trying not to look at her watering eyes.

"Don't you dare say that to my wife!" The words boomed out of him, and Louise knew that such words would be enough to cow a menace with a rational mind.

Startlingly contrary to their expectations, however, Marshal Gorian Vorovian stood up, towering over them by three feet. He was just as tall as the last Marshal. And the scarred face he proudly displayed broke through the intimidation the couple posed, shaking their initial perception of this wild-tongued officer. He strode towards them, ignoring the cut that began to form below his Adam's apple.

"And don't you think you are far above me for that kind of treatment, Your Highnesses. I know full well what Derflinger—"

"Hey! You know my name!"

"—is capable of in the hands of the Gandálfr. But don't think that I won't sit easily with a threat. I will keep fighting to my last breath. Always have, always will. Now put that sword down or I will put it down for you."

Saito and Louise gave the veteran their strongest glare as he gave them his. The standoff lasted for nearly a minute before Derflinger twitched in its master's grip. Saito adhered and lowered his weapon, Louise clutching tightly to his side.

"Who are you?" he asked, marveling at such audacity.

Gorian adjusted his collar, his fingers catching the blood that dripped from the minor laceration. "I am the Field Marshal of Tristain, commander of the armed forces of this wonderful kingdom, a loyal and faithful servant to the Royal Family."

"Don't play with me, Marshal," Saito warned, itching to widen the cut below his chin.

"I am a man of over sixty years. Thirty I have spent here in Halkeginia, serving the Tristainian authority. The other half I spent serving another in a more modern world..."

There was confusion at first. Then he saw the boy's eyes grow wide. Louise noticed this and she seemed to catch on to the realization that struck him. It took them long enough. "Don't tell me, you're... You...you're..."

"Correct, Hiraga Saito. I am much like yourself, only far older." This was the moment—the time when he would finally reveal to anyone in this technologically primitive realm who he really was. It seemed to break some security code he held onto but he yearned for the respect that the nobility owed to the plebes. _Surprise, surprise, young man._ "My birth name is Yegor Atanasovich Vorovian and it has been a very long time since I have seen my native homeland. Tell me: how is the Soviet Union doing nowadays?"

He did not conceal his enjoyment at the look of horror on the young man's face.

* * *

Simon went through the list in his hand. Over half the names on this sheet of paper were those of dead men. The rest, he was completely unsure of. But he had to try. He should try, he corrected himself.

He left _Der Feueratem _in the care of his apprentice and loyal housekeepers. He told them that it was "just business" considering how well-known he was in most echelons of the community. They believed him and the following day, he had left on carriage for the address of the first name on the list.

The mansion was in sight. Despite being of elegant Germanic design, he hardly marveled at the architecture, having seen this several times in his travails. He knocked on the door and was received by an aging butler who directed him to the lounge. It took no longer than three minutes before the owner came down the stairs.

"Simon!"

"Lord Krasnicht!" The Iron Barman stood up, receiving his old friend's embrace.

"It's been a long time. How are you?"

The two released from each other. "Alive and well, of course!"

"That makes the both of us, hah! So, what brings you here?"

"Well, it is best if I tell you in private."

"Ah, this again. Very well." The man gestured to the butler and he left. "We will talk about it in my study."

By the time they were there, Simon had the doors locked and the curtains drawn. He insisted that they converse in the corner of the room with the thickest portion of the walls. He found that around the man's own desk in front of two layers of wood and flanked by fully stacked bookshelves. _How appropriate. _He could guess how many women have bent over where the lamp was.

"Alright, Simon. What is it?"

"Vassily," he began, using the man's real name for the first time.

Vassily's smile quickly melted away and he leaned closer. "What is it?" he asked again, in whispered Russian.

"They found it."

"Found what?"

"Our unit. They found our unit."

Vassily stopped. "You can't be serious."

"Look at me."

He did. He went white, gripping tightly at the hand guards of his study chair. "I-impossible. We buried them!"

"Well, the weather did a fine job of revealing that much."

"S-such a long...time... What do we do now?" he asked with audible desperation after a moment's contemplation.

Simon went on for the next hour. By noon, he had left the mansion, opting to decline the butler's offer to dine with them. In no less than forty minutes, he had arrived at another location and looked for the occupant. He relayed the same message, received the same reaction, and explained the planned course of action. He would be repeating this process several times.

Gorian had no idea what he was doing but they both understood that they had to make preparations. _"Research," he says. Well, I have "clients" too, you know. _He couldn't just sit on his ass and wait it out. He needed to gather up the old breed. Even if they lacked the strength of youth, they still needed them.

And he was willing to endure the pain and stress that would entail. Calling up the troops had become much more complicated than ever. Gorian would probably berate him but he was confident the Marshal would have done the same thing. Tristain had some of its own assets, after all.

* * *

**NOTE: Not much going on here; planning and reorganizing is all.**

**Come to think of it, in the coming chapters, expect Gorian's role to be on par with Saito's although I will try to maximize his role in the story as far as the relevance of it goes.**

**Anyway, feel free to leave your thoughts. At the time of this posting, classes have already started and I have quite a workload ahead of me...just so you know.**


	4. Chapter 4 - The Resolve

**NOTE: Um, sorry for the delay.**

* * *

It was a country that did not exist in Halkeginia but did in Saito's world. As far as he had told them, that was. And the way he described it was frightening enough. If ever that country existed, then it would dwarf Germania ten times over both geopolitically and militarily.

Kirche had seen displays of her homeland's military might and felt proud of it, flaunting their power as much as she flaunted her chest. But part of her wished that Saito was just pulling the wool over her eyes. It was absurd and impossible that there would ever be a sovereign state that was much larger in scope than hers, let alone lacking any monarchy, preferably ruled by a council of commoners.

She fluttered down onto the bed, next to Louise, in the quarters of the couple's mansion at Des Ornières. Saito leaned against the window sill with his arms folded, looking distantly through the glass. The sun had just set and he had personally requested that Kirche, Guiche, and Montmorency see him at their mansion. The fact that it concerned the Germanian Archeological Affair was enough to bring them all here with haste.

Guiche caught the dark shadow forming under the eyes of his lieutenant. He sauntered over to him, resting his hand on his shoulder, shaking him from his trance. Might as well break the ice with a not-so-random question...

"Saito, if he's from the same world as yours, then how did he end up here?"

That was a particularly good question and one that he was unable to ask. "I...don't know."

"He could be someone's familiar. Probably another Void mage?" Montmorency wondered. Tiffania was already out of the equation because of the age difference.

"Could be," Kirche added. "But given that he's been here for thirty years, which would mean that: he was summoned here during Headmaster Osmond's time."

"But by who?" Saito completed. It was quite a conundrum. The realizations came the moment the Marshal revealed his identity as a former Russian soldier. That further confirmed his intentions: destroy the tanks lest they be used against us. He felt for the man's paranoia and knew how much of his war experience taught him to value peace and human life. _Does he?_

"Does the headmaster himself know?" Everyone stared at Guiche. "What?"

"That's sound. However, the rocke—err—staves of destruction were given to him by a man who crossed over from my world. It was apparent that the soldier carrying them wasn't summoned deliberately but by sheer coincidence." Hiraga shrugged. "Never mind. I'll ask him about it myself the next time we'll meet."

"And when is that?"

"In three days, probably," Louise answered. She plopped off the bed. "That Marshal shouldn't have dragged you into this." Her voice sounded distant.

Guiche nodded agreement. So did Kirche and Montmorency. "But he seemed to have acted in defense."

"Kirche," Louise asked, "does your country have any intention of war?"

The redhead seemed rather offended but took it to stride. This was a pressing matter and it was inevitable that politics would get in the way of everything they would do. "No! I...don't know, to be honest."

"Then why would we have to do this then if we don't know what they're planning?"

"Hey, it's not like I listen to what my parents talk about all the time you know!"

Montmorency took the redhead's arm. "Calm down, Kirche!"

"He's just paranoid," Guiche said, breaking the tension. "He's expecting a war."

"He sounds like he wants a war!" Louise argued.

_He wants a war? _The concept was simple really, Saito thought. Sacrifice the lives of a select few to save thousands. It was such a facile idea yet so grim and cold: kill a hundred to prevent the death of a million. "I'm more concerned about the weapons," he echoed.

"What about the potential effects! The Alliance would be broken! Crossing into Germania to destroy something they have would be a declaration in itself."

"It would be if Germania didn't know."

"What do you mean?" Kirche asked.

"I told the Marshal that I do the job on three conditions: first being that I'm not going in alone," Saito replied.

Guiche stared at him, a wide smile readily forming on his lips. "Heh, I wouldn't let my faithful lieutenant risk his life for Tristain by himself." He promptly dropped his arm over Saito's shoulder. "Besides, you are a member of the Undine Knights. He asks for your help, he asks for us! Therefore, as your captain, we would ensure your very success in this mission."

"Guiche!"

"Don't worry, Montmorency. It is our duty after all as student knights of the royal palace."

Said lady gripped his arm. "Don't make such rash decisions without me!"

"But, my lo—"

"I'm going with you!"

Kirche raised her brow. She sighed, shrugging. "Oh Founder. If Montmorency is going, then I guess I have to look after her as well." She smirked, looking back at Louise whose opinion everyone awaited. The pink-haired mage appeared rather nonplussed. Her eyes, though, betrayed her true emotions.

"Louise, I'm sorry I pulled you into this. You don't have to go..."

The Void mage huffed. She could have just used her Explosion spell to vaporize the damn Marshal. But that gave her a thought. Saito didn't like these weapons as much as anyone ever did. She shared in that dislike and with her magical ability to make things go up in a spectacular flash, she could prove useful in making sure that such technological monstrosities would never be used to bother anyone ever again. Though, she was unsure of where to go at this point.

"Saito, are you sure?" she asked slowly.

Her husband gave her a reassuring smile. The expression was quickly shared by Guiche and the rest. If loyalty had a human form, he would be binding these people together in a massive bear hug.

"My second condition," Saito continued, "was that the mission wouldn't be kept a secret. Germania would know about it. That would force the Marshal to consult with the Emperor along with the Queen. It would lessen the chances of hostility and prevent any backlash if ever something goes wrong."

"Smart move," Kirche remarked quietly. Her father often emphasized that Germania should solve its problems by force often before diplomacy.

"And the third?" Montmorency asked.

"Third: he should be in the field with us. That way, the old bastard wouldn't be able to escape from anything."

Guiche couldn't stop the smile from forming into a grin. He was starting to like this plan. "So when do we move out?"

"Not yet."

All heads turned to Louise. "Henrietta is putting it all on hold for now. She said we needed to wait for her permission."

"And how long would that take?"

"Three days."

"More than enough time for the Marshal to finalize his plans," Saito said. "I should go see him tomorrow."

"Let's go with you," Guiche chirped. Kirche and Montmorency nodded their heads. "Louise?"

The Void mage looked at them. And then at her husband. Were they going to do this? Again? A threat was rising to challenge their very safety and as mages and heroes of battles past, they would once again stand to defend Tristain. It seemed like these kinds of adventures would never stop hounding them as long as they lived.

Perhaps that was how her parents first got by shortly after they were married. Constantly summoned by royalty to go about on these wild skirmishes. And now that they were permanently settled, the responsibility seemed to have floated down upon her shoulders—_Not mine. Our responsibility. _Saito was keen on resolving this issue. So was everyone else.

She wondered what her mother would think. Karin was visibly shaken when they had crossed into Albion a few years before. They were caught on the bad end of her wrath and that was enough. But that was what she did when she was young, anyway. Besides, Louise was married now and held a position in the royal court. Participating in something like this would anger her again but there was diplomatic immunity (_if it'll work_)...and a lot of things that would hold her back. Regardless, it was the call of duty by which she felt obliged to heed it. Her mother did the same thing. That was justified.

Louise curved her lips. "I'm going, too. I'll make sure you come back in one piece, Saito."

Her husband blushed at the compliment, scratching his head. "Well, we are married so..."

"So you shouldn't abandon each other. It's that simple," Montmorency remarked, simpering.

"True that."

* * *

Outside the master's bedroom, Siesta quietly removed herself from the door. Picking up the bucket of clothes, she hastily tip-toed her way downstairs, alarm prevalent in her expression with Saito at the forefront of her mind.

* * *

Queen Charlotte de Gallia kept her eyes on the white fabric of the table sheet. Her kingdom's internal government was going through some "renovations" and the stir-ups of some nobles who lost their positions were troubling enough. Not that Sylphid or any of her supporters had anything to say to that. Her familiar had become her tongue; a fitting function as she was not a person of many words, often burying herself in either books or reports.

"I see," she said, being audible enough for her visitor.

"Tabitha, I don't know what to do."

She looked up at Henrietta, her eyes aimed away to her side, a pained expression on her face. The Queen of Tristain decided to do the visiting this time, arriving at the steps of the royal palace in Versailles while catching her breath. Agnès and the rest of her royal guard were outside, coming off as rather haggard. By the looks of it, Henrietta had come in a hurry and the matter she brought up explained why.

"Prevent war."

"Huh?"

Queen Charlotte, otherwise known as Tabitha, stared back at her guest. "He wants to stop a war."

"How? How is an incursion going to curb a war?"

She blinked. "Black ops."

"Wha—" Henrietta caught her tongue. _Black ops._ Gallia was known to operate through mercenaries and agents. This was a country that utilized backhanded measures, balancing clandestine assignments with full-on military operations. What Gallia often did to protect itself, Marshal Gorian was trying to imitate.

The follow-up was blunt. "Help him."

Henrietta was dumbstruck by Tabitha's advice. Yet she knew better than to ask why. The reasons were starting to sound logical. Tristain was a small country with a similarly small but reputable fighting force. However, the Germanians were large in number and equally brutish. The main reason why they hadn't enveloped the whole continent was...probably the work of underground Gallian elements.

It all made sense now.

"I guess you're right. Maybe the Marshal is right." She closed her eyes, clearing her head. Opening them again, Tabitha could see her resoluteness. "Thank you, Tabitha."

"I'm going too."

"What?"

The Queen of Gallia picked up her staff, rising up from her seat. "I'm going with them."

"But, Tabitha..."

She raised her hand, curving her lips. "Saito needs our help. Knowing him, he's only after the weapons."

"He wants to destroy them."

Tabitha nodded. Despite the trouble going on in her country, she had her twin sister Josette to take care of that. Her attempt at usurpation was a closed book—not affecting their relationship as siblings. Besides, they were identical twins. She would just have to adjust her attitude and pretend to be introverted, which she often did. Deception was Gallia's specialty, anyway. A specialty that Tabitha was often tempted to abuse.

* * *

The Site as a whole looked more like a mass grave. Wolfgang dropped from his perch atop the carriage and trudged through the mud that began to form at the onset of the winter season. In the next ten weeks, snow would start to fall and then the clouds would sweep down from the Eastern highlands. Their priority now was to get everything moved to the more stable grounds of the capital before the ground would freeze over.

He looked at the dig sites, holes that pockmarked the earth. About a hundred bodies so far. It baffled him that there were rarely any corpses that showed signs of violence. Fractured bones were becoming a rare find. The conclusion that his mind had jumped to for now was that these men had died of either hunger or disease. But how could they all go out in one single event? How was it possible that all these men collapsed from starvation on a single day? Was it on a single day?

"Captain!" an infantryman called.

Wolfgang pushed through the mound of dirt, coming across a small tent erected next to a square pit.

"What is it?"

An earth mage of lower rank handed over a set of dirty papers. "These, captain. We believe them to be documents."

Wolfgang ruffled through the sheets, squinting his eyes at the foreign texts. Some of the letters were written backwards yet the script followed a horizontal format much like most Halkeginian pieces. "What is this language?"

"We do not know yet, captain."

"Any idea?"

The mage shrugged, too tired to elaborate further. He had been exerting much effort in lifting and moving soil that he lacked the willpower to try to comprehend the torn pages of some lost opus.

"What else have you come across?"

The mage shot up from the table. "More of those, sir." He gestured to the chest in the corner.

Wolfgang returned the papers and lifted the lid, finding small stacks of books, their condition being the poorest he'd ever seen. He looked at the covers and rifled through some of the pages, careful not to further damage the weakened paper. _These...these are all journals._

They appeared to be so. All of them contained what looked like handwritten entries and in the same strange script. _Who were these foreigners? No pointy ears... No dusts of magic..._

"Have you gone through these?"

"In general, yes, captain." The mage wanted nothing more to do than find a bedroll and sleep. Hell, he wanted to drop to the hard earth and doze off, passing over the fact that he could easily conjure up a bed from the soil from where he stood. "Nothing specific." He remembered something. "...except for one."

Weigandericht turned his head. "What?"

The mage strolled to the chest, picking out a hardcover notebook. The spine had degraded to a seriously weakened state, but upon opening it, found minimal tears in the pages. "This is the least damaged one so far. And the most elaborately designed, too."

Wolfgang took it from his hands and went through the pages again. A photograph dropped out, earning the curiosity of both men. Picking it up, it showed a man in an officer's cap smiling jovially at them while he sat casually with his hands on his lap. He wore the same type of clothing found on them and appeared to be of considerable age.

"Such a small but detailed painting," the mage remarked. "There more of those but I left them tucked in their leaves."

The Captain harrumphed. The face on the faded picture struck him as someone of worth. There were colored strips on the collar and shoulder not to mention the strange hat he wore that bore a small emblem. There were a handful of medals on his chest as well. _This must be their leader._ He looked back at the notebook in his hand. _And this is his diary. _His eyes widened. _That's probably it!_

"Did you find this on a body?"

"Yes, sir. However, it was sent back to Vindobona yesterday."

Wolfgang whispered a curse as he straddled back outside. He looked at the excavated grounds and the men toiling about. "We might have found the records of their commander," he whispered half to himself and half to the mage standing curiously behind. There was not much sense coming from this whole damn excavation. But at least they had clues to begin with.

All that was needed now was to translate this damn language into Germanian.

* * *

She wasn't called Karin the Heavy Wind for nothing. A powerful and legendary mage, she was as fierce as fire but stiff as iron. Her daughters frequently tested their patience—as well as their father—and she had prevailed in instilling discipline in the family until the youngest, Louise, decided to elope with a commoner. A commoner of another world, her familiar, the prophetic Gandálfr. She had strictly protested against their relationship but ultimately had to acquiesce. She followed with the realization that it was for the best.

But as she rode her manticore across the skies towards the Royal Palace at Tristain, she felt the burning rage boiling up inside her. She was not going to hold back now. She bore the wrath of her whole family. The message from the palace had also crossed eyes with her husband and elder daughters. That Marshal had pushed his luck too far and was going to pay for it. The fracas with Albion was enough but repeating the same thing on Germania was too much now.

She wanted to rip that bastard's head off. _Just because you can command the Queen's army doesn't mean that you have the authority send my daughter on a raid!_

_ "Yes, I can."_

_ "Just because you can hold your own doesn't mean—"_

_ The berserker's head fell swiftly off his shoulders. "You know, Karin, you remind me of myself in a way."_

_ "Shut it, Gorian."_

_ Her comrade-in-arms chuckled, twirling the blade in his hands as he sidestepped a failed blow. She saw a streak of metal and a loud clang before an armored knight fell dead at his feet. "You're a teenager, kid."_

_ "Don't refer to me as that!"_

_ "Oh, I can call you anything I want, Karin."_

_ She felt the need to crush his lungs out with her spells. The cries of battle softened as the roar of her manticore boomed across the mess of a valley. "There you are!"_

_ "Right on time, that pet of yours."_

_ "Have some respect, you—"_

_ He shoved towards her beast. "Go! I'll hold for you."_

_ She blinked. "What?"_

_ "You have a heart to return to, right? I'm a man so I know." He looked at her, the smile on his face highlighted by the spatters of blood. His brows were arched downward as he bore his teeth, his eyes flashing with malice. "Besides, the Duke wouldn't want to die a widow."_

_ Karin blushed. "Don't talk to me like that!"_

_ "Just shut up and go!" He cut down a charging knight. "What did I tell you, damn it!"_

_ The young mage clicked her tongue and kicked the sides of her beast. The creature flapped its wings as it ascended, taking its master away from the carnage. Several loud cracks, similar to the cackle of muskets, echoed from behind her. Karin turned, worry crossing her mind. The smoke had become too thick for her to see but she could hear it. The volleys of gunfire echoing from where she had left him._

_ Gorian, the cocky arrogant soldier from lands far beyond, was fighting a battle deemed impossible for the likes of him to even win. And yet he survived, somehow._

"Well, you're not going to survive this one, you senseless imbecile," she mouthed acidly. She pulled on the hairs of her manticore and the beast eased its flight, beginning to descend over the courtyard of the royal palace. The Griffin Corps had seen her form from afar and, out of both fear and admiration, moved out of the way.

Even after all those years, she saw the man as nothing more than a stubborn, arrogant, hardened soldier who had no tastes for any of the cultures of Halkeginia. He even laughed at the sovereignty of the Pope, even vocally challenging his authority in a drunken stupor more than once. And yet he had reached this far, as a Marshal of Tristain, even with decorations and the respect and tolerance of the people. That fact had baffled her as much as it baffled the nobility of almost every other nation on the continent.

The talons of her manticore scraped against the cobbled quadrangle and she quickly dismounted. "Where is the Marshal," she demanded the nearest sentry.

"H-he's in h-his o-o-office, m-milady!"

Karin brushed passed him, marching up the steps, her glare causing the royal guard to let her pass. By the time she reached the floor of his workplace, she was ready to conjure a tornado that would rip apart the stone foundations of the palace.

"Gorian!"

Inside his office, Gorian clicked his tongue. "As expected," he muttered. _Good morning, Yegor. How about a headache to start your day?_

* * *

**NOTE: ****Karin's introduction was something that came with the writing. I did not expect her entry to be this way as much as I did not expect my OC to dominate his role.**


	5. Chapter 5 - The Pawns

The force of the massive gust of wind nearly ripped the doors off their hinges. Collateral debris flew from the impact, nearly shattering the windows but not sparing the ceramic ornaments that were now cracked pieces scattered about. Well, for one, Karin was holding back.

Gorian removed himself from his desk. "Hello, Karin. Long time no see."

Karin the Heavy Wind marched inside, eyeing with growing intensity the Tristainian official. She stopped a mere ten inches from his face, although Gorian was sure he could feel her breath against the nape of his neck. He was still taller than her though, something the smirk on his face gloated.

"I. Will not. Let you. Send my daughter. On a skirmish," she seethed as calmly as she could, her hand clenching the wand with veined strength.

The Marshal shrugged. "Hey, she crossed into Albion and survived."

"Don't give me that!" Karin furiously raised her wand, beginning the phrase that would conjure a cyclone.

Her tongue froze midway, pain rocketing down her hand. He had grabbed her wrist and jerked it to the side; his iron grip forced her to drop her wand. He bore heavily into her eyes, a look of surprise and indignation on her face.

"Gorian..." Karin weakly repeated, the shock still there.

The Marshal released his hold on her, stepping on the Duchess' wand as the palace guards rushed into his office, their blades drawn. He turned to the confused men and barked a few stern orders. They spared a cautious glimpse at Karin the Heavy Wind who appeared to rub her aching wrist.

"Do I have to repeat myself?" Gorian demanded.

The men quickly shook their heads and excused themselves back into the corridor, taking the initiative to close the loosely held double doors as they did so.

At the click of the latches, he turned towards her. "Karin, it wouldn't be too good if you didn't have a hand to use your wand. Ever wonder why I'm still breathing right now? Well, you could ask the mages who had either their sticks broken or their wrists shattered," he warned icily.

"Like you're one to talk!" Karin snapped back, striding in front of him.

Gorian simpered. "It's true, really. You should thank me for not incapacitating your husband."

Duchess de La Vallièrre appeared to be ready to tear him apart with her free hand. Her breath rifled through her gritted teeth in her seething. However, as quickly as one would flip a switch, Karin huffed resolutely, her anger replaced by consolation. Her shoulders collapsed while her arms hung loose on her sides. "You never change, do you..."

Gorian bowed his head, looking up at the window and smiling at the sun. This was not entirely how he had expected to meet her again but it was good. Having Karin here was like reliving his youth. Early into his thirties and he had his back pressed to hers as they stood their ground against the unyielding horde of invaders. Those were good times.

"Karin, you still owe me that favor."

For the first time, she blushed. She blushed as though flattered. It had been years since she was this genuinely flustered. "I thought you were going to die. So I seemed to have forgotten."

Gorian shrugged. "Hey, I gutted a way out for you. I've been waiting three decades for you to repay me for that." _After all, it's not easy taking a dozen musket balls to the gut and seven years of incarceration in a moldy dungeon just for you._

Karin eyed him wearily. "Please, Gorian. My daughter has been through enough harm."

"She will again, regardless. Karin, danger will always be around the corner. Even if I did not draw up this operation, she would still face the same kind of challenges we went through."

"Out of all the things I could have done to make up for what you did for me, this is far too much for me to concede to. Sending my youngest daughter to war—"

"To prevent a war, actually."

"How is an incursion into Germanian territory going to prevent a war?" she demanded, repeating the same question asked many times since day one. She looked at his boot and found her wand still under his heel. "Just send me instead!"

Gorian sighed. He bent over and picked up the object, dusting it off and handing it back to her. Karin stared at him, then back at her wand. It took her a moment for her to begrudgingly accept, feeling the arcane power reinvigorating her again. The Marshal brushed passed her, settling in front of his desk, his arms stretching the corners of the map that he promptly drew from his desk drawer.

"Karin, there is still time to make changes." He drew up his quill and began writing. "I could always revamp the strategy. I intended only to enlist your son-in-law. However, I cannot prevent her resolution."

She plopped onto the chair across his desk. "Fine. If you need Louise...then, I wil—"

"You can come along if you want."

Her head snapped back at him. Gorian guessed that her eyelids had reached the height of his ceiling. "W-what?"

_I don't want to hurt you this way._ "I've seen enough weeping mothers."

"Gorian..."

* * *

Colbert entered the headmaster's office at the top of the Academy's main tower. He was slightly surprised to see Count Mott there. He knew why as soon as he stepped inside, eyeing the unrolled scroll on Osmond's table.

"Professor Jean Colbert?" Mott asked though he already knew. It was part of procedure.

"Yes?"

Osmond cleared his throat. "Professor, you have been ordered to report to the palace in earnest. The Queen has need of your services, including the use of the Ostland."

Colbert's eyes went wide. "Excuse me?"

"You heard him," Mott reiterated. "The Queen wishes to enlist your aid for some special task. Be sure to take your little toy with you."

Jean kept his passivity after absorbing the light insult to his creation. The Ostland was a specially designed airship, its aerodynamic framework modeled after the body of a (_Steel Dragon_) Japanese Mitsubishi A6M Zero fighter aircraft which was discovered in pristine condition near the village of Talbes. Its most prominent feature was that it did not require arcane sails to fly but the lift generated by the aircraft's massive wings as well as the propulsion coming from its steam-powered propellers.

"Very well. I will inform the rest of the staff—"

"I will handle that," Osmond interjected, levitating the scroll as it rolled itself shut, floating back into the Count's open palm. "The palace has not specified any time frame for your leave from the Academy."

"I see."

Following due courtesy, Mott left the office. As the door closed behind him, Colbert motioned towards his superior.

"Inform the Pope?"

"Without a doubt," Osmond replied silently, drawing up another roll of parchment and his quill. _Patience be damned. I've already run out of it myself._

* * *

It was an amusing sight, to be honest. A line of vigorous youths, most of them student mages, stood at full attention in front of him, the sunlight shining dramatically over their features. They were all stone-faced but he could tell they were both as nervous as they were eager. _Just like new recruits._

He grimaced. He still needed the Queen's permission and so far there hasn't been any word of it. It was still the second day and Her Majesty had gone off to Gallia for some urgent meeting.

"Saito," he began, rising from the bench in front of the fountain. They were in the palace garden, having caught up with him as he took a midday stroll. Had they come earlier, then the confrontation with Karin would have made for an amusing show, he mused. "I commend your friends for their bravery."

Almost all of them raised their brows. _Arrogant little brats_, he shot back.

"Her Majesty has yet to give the order. But all the necessary preparations have been made."

Guiche tapped his lieutenant, much to his chagrin. "What are the plans?" Saito asked.

"Generally the same," Gorian replied. "Oh and one more thing. Your Highness De Ornièlles?"

Louise arched her forehead. Not many people referred to her by that name and title. "Yes?"

"In order to avoid any unwanted interruptions, I took the courtesy to inform your family—"

The atmosphere suddenly collapsed in on itself.

"—about our little "vacation" in the Far West—"

Louise and Saito were frozen in their place, eyes wide with fear, and their blood running cold.

"—I'm sure they understand. The same goes with the rest of you. I also drew up the services of one of your academicians, Jean Colbert." Gorian gave them all a mischievous smile. "So, should I run you down with the whole plan?"

If looks could kill, the Marshal would have been eviscerated in mere seconds.

* * *

The Ostland began its ascent into the clouds at the onset of dusk. Professor Colbert manned the wheel, increasing the throttle and turning gradually at approximately one thousand feet. The measurement systems displayed on the gauges of the aircraft's bridge confused the Marshal though it did remind him of the cockpit of a MiG.

Below, he could hear steam venting from ducts in the pipes, signaling that the fuel was already flowing into the main engines, powering the turbine propellers on both wings and the aft tail. As they rose above the clouds, the bright orange beams of the sun shone just above the rear horizon, reflecting off of the vessel's steel wings which brought back images of the aircraft on the display at the war museums in Moscow.

"I'm impressed, professor. I didn't really expect that we would reach this far up into the sky and at such a speed." On the whole, the vessel was a hybrid of an airship and a steamboat, with an added touch of jet propulsion.

Colbert spared a glance at his passenger, showing nothing at the compliment. Word that the Marshal was also from Earth had reached him though that was as far as it had gone. "Saito has been comparing this to the 'planes' on Earth."

"Ah, yes. From the evolution of zeppelins and air ships to that of jet fighters."

"Pardon?"

Gorian looked down at the deck. The Undine Knights were surely there, manning whatever was to be manned. They actually surpassed his expectations in that they actually knew what they were doing, possessing the skill of an experienced crew. Below, he had seen two of their number shoveling coal into the ship's furnace. He had no idea that they _were_ the ship's crew from the start.

"Jet fighters. They travel at supersonic speeds, much like the one used to destroy the Ancient Dragon." He had witnessed it alongside the Queen, after all.

"Yes, we saw that. It barreled above us faster than any flying creature. Nearly deafening when it soared over the fleet."

"In my time, when I was still young, we also had several of those. Air divisions." He noticed at how the professor cringed at the plurality of his words. "A force to be reckoned with. I don't know what has become of them today. So any estimate?"

"We would be arriving at the border in an hour."

It was both a scouting mission and a test flight of sorts, though only for the Tristanian official on board. For now, they would survey the troop formations stretched across the territorial boundary shared between Tristain and Germania. Along the way, the Marshal would be able to experience the unique ride that only the Ostland could provide: speed—faster than the airship-pace of any fleet but slower than a biplane.

"Marshal?"

Gorian turned. "Yes, Saito?"

Saito motioned for him to come closer. "There are some things I need to ask you about."

"And those are?"

"It's best if we talk about it in private."

Vorovian raised his chin. "Very well. Down in the quarters, then."

The Marshal followed him down the stairs to the floor below the deck and above the fuel tanks. He noticed that they were alone; in here, any audible discussion would be muted by the loud humming of the propellers. He watched as Saito removed Derflinger from his shoulder and placed it on the side.

"Just a precaution," he told the sword.

"Oh come on! What's wrong with having me around?" it clapped back.

"Saito, what is it?" Gorian ordered, his hands placed firmly outside his pockets.

"Marshal, we're both from Earth. I should've asked you this when we first met. How did you end up here?"

He gawked at him. Though there was nothing he could read from his overall facial expression, he noticed how his eyes began to study him, as though he were a threat to be eliminated. Saito knew from memory how well Russian soldiers operated but he had no telling of what kind of soldier this man in front of him was. Was he a conscript? An officer? Perhaps KGB or Spetsnaz? No, that was stretching it a little too far...

Before he could repeat his question, Gorian replied, "I fell through a portal."

"A portal?"

"Yes. A portal. I was out on patrol one night with my squad. I saw something glowing not far away from where we were and I told my squad mates that I would go investigate. When I did, I stepped on something loose and tripped. Then I fell right through..."

"Is that so..."

"What else would you want to know? The names of my comrades?"

"Were you the only one?"

The answer came with tonal emphasis. "Yes."

"When was that?"

Gorian chuckled. "Are you interrogating me? Alright, I'll play along. It was on the late hours of November 17, 1985. The calendars are different here, which is quite obvious to the both us, don't you think?"

"That would mean that you're a veteran—"

"—of the conflict in Afghanistan." He straightened his back. "You told me before that the Soviet Union collapsed in 1991. I dread to think of what happened to that arid wasteland of a country." One thing he would allow himself, Gorian thought, was to display his genuine revulsion at the fact that the state which he had fought for was now gone, destroyed by the new batch of idiots who thought they could fix what the last batch of idiots messed up.

"Why are you doing this? I mean, you could have just ignored the issue altogether."

"How can I ignore something from my homeland? Tell me, Saito. Would you sit back and watch as the Pope calls on the involuntary massacre of innocents in these so-called 'crusades'? Using, oh say, bayoneted Arisaka rifles or Zero fighters?"

"He wouldn't!"

"See," Gorian pointed, "that's your folly. You trust in others too much. I suggest you control your faith."

Saito remained quiet, unable to harangue him with the rest of the inquiries he had planned. Following this response, however, it came to a flat wall. There was nothing else to explore, was there? Something tugged at him and he felt unable to satisfy his suspicions. He watched as the Marshal adjusted the helm of his mantle.

"What were you before you came here?"

"I told you: I was a soldier. A farm-boy drafted into military service." Silence. "Is that all?"

Lord de Orniélle nodded automatically, still pondering. He picked up Derflinger and slung it over his shoulder. The Marshal turned around and headed back upstairs, his mood considerably affected by this crabby conversation.

"Saito," Gorian echoed as he reached the stairs.

"Marshal?"

"Teach your wife to tie her hair into a ponytail. I could see it from here." And with that, he left just as Louise, the elf Tiffania, and their maid Siesta tumbled out of the pitch dark shadow of the corrugated steam pipes, much to Saito's dismay. The pink-haired mage's face was visibly flushed even in the poor lighting of the room.

"Louise, wh-what are you all doing here!" he demanded, trying his best to avert his gaze from the elf's (_fruity_) bosom.

"At least we know some things..." Louise weakly chirped, untangling herself from the uncomfortable knot they ended up in.

"I'm sorry, Monsieur Saito," Siesta coughed, "but I couldn't stomach you and Mademoiselle Valliére going on such a dangerous mission!"

"So, he fell through a portal—"

Saito interrupted Louise. "Siesta, why are you even here? And Louise, I told you to stay upstairs!"

"And why would we do that? Besides, I have a right to know!" she protested. "I'm your wife!"

He rubbed his temples. "Seriously? I wouldn't keep something like this from you, anyway."

"So why the secrecy?"

"Just a precaution."

Derflinger nudged in its sheath. "You know, there is one thing I don't get."

"And what's that?" its master asked tiredly. He was busy helping the ladies to their feet.

"He fell through, right? But portals suck people and objects in. Weren't you aware of that?"

It clicked. "I am! So he's lying then... But that would mean that the stray portal theory—"

"Not a theory; an effect of Brimir's magic," Tiffania chided, joining in the conversation, unaware that her chest was bouncing (_juicily_) in front of Saito's eyes. "According to legend, Brimir himself conjured a spell that would regularly open up rifts into other dimensions in order to access better equipment in his war against us elves."

That earned hums of affirmation from the rest. "But," Saito continued, "I'm still not sure about the rest though. I honestly don't think he was just a 'farm-boy'."

"...oh Founder, everyone's a skeptic," Louise sighed.

* * *

Simon couldn't believe his eyes. They were all there. The last name on his list, Oleg Vragintseyev, had ironically turned out to be the chief overseer of the Vindobona storehouses. The Barman had arrived just in time to be greeted by the former engineer concerning the "ancient relics".

"I thought the weight of the soil had caved in on them but for some reason, they're all still intact," Oleg explained. They stood on the indoor catwalk, looking below at the haphazardly arranged row of twenty mildly dilapidated Soviet T-80 tanks. Two of them had their main gun barrels broken off while the rest had merely corroded with a few dents here and there.

"The fact that they haven't been completely destroyed by nature itself is what bothers me."

The former engineer turned to him. "Seriously, Semyon? Can't you see the rust? The bends in the armor? Look at the damn treads, man. All these are disabled one way or another."

"They may be. Are you clued in on current events?"

"No. I don't bother myself with such things."

"You should." Simon eyed him warily. "The Emperor has been building up his troops and thickening his lines on both sides of the continent. Did you notice that?"

Oleg narrowed his eyes. "Not...really."

"Have you noticed the divisions amassing along the boundary we share with Gallia and Tristain?"

"I've heard about that..."

Simon flailed his arms. "Look at these, comrade! If they so much as find out how to work one of these damn things, then all the resources would come pouring in just to reproduce a fully working copy." Oleg simply stared. "As far as I know, tanks aren't supposed to exist in this world until three hundred years later!"

The engineer finally nodded. "Come with me. The guns are in the other building."

"What of them?"

"They're rusted to shit. I checked each one of them personally and as far as I know nearly all of them will break down after a few bursts."

Simon gaped. "Did they see you work them?"

Oleg huffed. "Of course not! I wouldn't be that stupid."

The two men followed the platform to an outdoor balcony. The air smelled better here than inside. "What do they have over there?" Simon pointed to the large stone building on the other side of the compound.

"The guns. About fifty AKs, three Dragunovs, and...ah, three PKMs, and a hundred or so of our old Makarovs. Most, if not all, of the ammunition is still usable. As for the rest, I don't recall, man. I'm fifty-four and the farthest I could remember was the first chick I banged after we ditched the unit."

"Keep your voice down when you're talking about that, Oleg."

The overseer shrugged. "No one understands Russian."

"And that would make them want to ask questions. You know that."

"...Hmph..."

Simon reentered the building, looking back with worry at the currently immobile tanks. _They both don't have fuel and their treads are all damaged._ A slumped form on the far corner to the right caught his attention. Somehow, Oleg had drugged his underlings with a sleeping potion. He made a mental note to ask him about that.

"Don't you want to see the bodies?"

"No," Simon answered quickly. His knuckles were visibly growing white against the wooden canopy. "Burn the papers. Don't give them to anyone, not even Vassily."

"What are you onto?" Oleg quietly asked.

"Yegor is planning to relocate the warheads."

The storekeeper scoffed. "Do you even remember where we buried them?"

"I do. And so does he apparently. I don't know about all this though."

"We could use them." Simon snapped his head back at Oleg, the latter shrugging his shoulders. "Hey, you may never know."

"The last thing we need is a full-scale war with these fucking machines."

"It will help Germania!"

"But not the other countries." The way things were going, Germania was transforming into the Third Reich of Halkeginia but without the fanaticism and anti-Semitism. Even though it would affect the balance of power on the continent, empowering one empire with futuristic weapons so as to help it become a formidable force seemed..._wrong_. It felt a lot like along the lines of tampering with space and time. It just felt wrong. Unfair and wrong. _Like Afghanistan._

"Oleg, do you remember our last tour in Afghanistan?"

Oleg shifted uncomfortably in his place. "Don't bring that up, man. I don't want to even think about it."

"You will if you let those bastards learn how to use our tanks." _And our missile trucks._ At least the missiles lacked the warheads. That he was sure of.

* * *

Vassily Petrovovich Krazov, known publicly as Lord Werner Krasnicht, heaved out from under his bed a wooden chest. He drew two keys from his coat pocket, unlocking the chest with the first. There was a smaller, peculiar looking box inside along with a neatly arranged stack of booklets and faded photographs. He used the second key to unlock that one.

He was already in his mid-fifties but he could still remember how to work the weapon after thirty years of having not even fired a single bullet from it. Vassily flexed his wrist, feeling for muscle memory.

He pulled the slider on the Pistolet Besshumnyy—_PB 6P9 silent pistol, standard issue_—out of reflex and aimed at the wall. There were three magazines in the box. He picked one up and fed it into the handle grip. The moment he pulled the slider again, he felt the exhilaration rush into him. The cold Moscow winter nights and the arid desert mountains of Afghanistan..._It's been a long time, Vasya._ He didn't realize that he had closed his eyes and when he opened them, he felt slightly upset that he was in his quarters at his mansion in the early morning hours.

Vassily sighed. Unloading and returning the pistol back in the kit, he removed it from the chest revealing a tidily formed dark green uniform and a pair of black boots. He ran his finger across the collar, his thumb rubbing against the blue patches of his old KGB uniform. He whispered his millionth thanks to the Elven mage who blessed his chest with a preservation spell (_or whatever that's called_).

In a few days, he would personally visit the Vindobona storehouses. An old colleague was managing the stores and he smiled at the prospect of seeing Oleg again. He chortled at the irony—defectors lost in time having integrated themselves in a society far different from their own. _If Fate is that cruel, then I would be a masochist if I enjoy the stress of this life._

As he set everything back into place, he heard the cacophony of hooves against cobblestone and edged his head to peer outside. Two hooded strangers on horseback were held up at the gate by his guards.

He turned the knob on the gas lamp in his room, seeing the heads turn towards his balcony. Vassily stepped outside, pretending to rub his eyes, forcing out a yawn.

"Milord!" a sentry called, "These two nobles claim to request your presence!"

"Let them in. I will meet them in the parlor."

The befuddled sentries allowed the hooded horsemen to enter. They dismounted, their cloaks meddling with the darkness of the night. One of them tossed the sentry an Écus as he nodded. "A tip," he remarked before heading inside the mansion.

Vassily saw their heads arc, gazing at the splendor of his home. "Welcome to the Krasnicht Manor."

The two guests removed their hoods and bowed before him. One of them had gray hair flowing down his shoulders while the other turned out to be a woman with flowing green dye.

"No, no, no. Come here. Have a seat. No need for courtesy."

They stared at him, puzzled before rising and sitting down slowly on the couch. Vassily sat on the one opposite them. His informants were right about these two...in appearance. Well, the Pope once hired them for their skill so they had to be that good.

"Jean-Jacques Francis, I presume?"

Wardes bowed his head. "Yes, Milord."

"And you are his aide-de-camp, Matilda de Sachsen-Gotha."

Fouquet nodded. "Yes, Milord."

Vassily curled his lips. "Well, I'm sure you are curious as to why I summoned you here. As you can see, I am Lord Werner Krasnicht, former adviser to the Emperor and former member of the Emperor's Council. This is my humble domain. I believe you all know why I summoned you here at the utmost hour."

The mages stared at him.

He shrugged. "Very well. Pleasantries aside, I need your services..."

* * *

**NOTE: Wardes and Fouquet. I do say, they make quite an...effective...couple. Oh, kindly inform me if things are a little too off.**


	6. Chapter 6 - The Omen

Queens Henrietta de Tristain and Charlotte de Gallia arrived in Tristainia near noon. Their convoy, following the monarchical structure of horsemen and carriage, came into view from the Marshal's office, though Gorian preferred not to step onto his outdoor balcony to reveal himself. It was the third day now (_the day of reckoning_). He commanded himself to be patient, despite the tiresome night of reconnaissance. He rubbed his eyes, turning around and heading downstairs.

Cardinal Mazarin led the two monarchs—and a certain familiar—to the throne room. Henrietta nearly frowned upon seeing her Marshal standing by the empty throne, bowing his head reverently with the servant smile that everyone else gave her. Beside her, Tabitha tapped her staff, glimpsing Gorian's coal pupils and the heavy bags below them. Her familiar, Illococoo, suddenly fell silent, her childish gimmick muted by whatever aura she sensed.

"Your Majesty, I welcome you back to Tristainia!"

"Thank you, Marshal. I take it all is well?"

"Yes, Your Majesty. The troops are in order and there have been no qualms whatsoever since your departure." Gorian straightened his back, emptily eyeing the bespectacled Gallian regent. _You must be Queen Charlotte, eh?_ Beside her was another woman who radiated a growing hostility towards him. _And that is Illococoo? _He caught Agnès, the Captain of the Royal Guard, giving a narrow glare. _Really? What did I do?_

"Marshal Gorian Vorovian?" Tabitha inquired.

He turned his head, studying her. "Yes, Your Majesty?"

Tabitha observed him for a moment. Then she turned to Henrietta and nodded. Perplexing as it was, he followed her gaze.

Henrietta raised her hand, lightly flicking it outward. Cardinal Mazarin, Agnès, Illococoo, and the rest of the royal guard left the room. "Marshal Gorian..."

He raised his brow.

"...I give you full permission to proceed with the operation. We are to discuss further details of this later at the luncheon."

Gorian grinned as he bowed, thoroughly enjoying the minor ache in his spine. "Thank you, Your Majesty."

The doors opened and Illococoo filed in jovially towards her master, taking care to keep a three-foot radius from the Marshal as she did so. Cardinal Mazarin followed through as well, a list of the day's reports to discuss.

As he left the throne room, he noticed the faint glimmer of a portal. Then his attention shifted Saito and Louise standing in front of it as it dissipated into the air. _So you could cast shortcuts, eh? Why didn't I think of that?_ "That might prove useful."

Saito's hand fell in front of his wife. "Don't think about it."

"Better than using carriages or the fleet. It takes time."

Louise narrowed her eyes. "What are you going on about now?"

"Her Majesty has given us her permission. Now, allow me to make preparations for my trip to Germania tomorrow so I could meet with the Emperor." He continued walking only to stop five steps later. "Or perhaps you could give me a shortcut."

"I...can't."

Saito placed his palm over Derflinger's handle out of instinct. He watched him shrug his shoulders and proceed down the hall towards the exit as though nothing happened.

"Very well, then. I'll just fetch a ride."

As soon as he disappeared from view, Louise tugged at her husband's sleeve. "Saito..." He heard the fear in her voice. "Does...he know?"

"Know what?"

"That...I can cast the World Door..."

"No." Saito forced out a cheesy grin. "Now, come on. Tabitha's here; let's go see her."

Louise returned the remark, albeit unable to hide her growing discomfort.

* * *

The letter from the Pope was rather earlier than expected.

_Too early_, Osmond thought as the seal broke itself off from the scroll allowing him to unroll it in front of him. The messenger who delivered it stood straight, sweat beading down from his head. His clothes stuck to his skin, and even though he had his own magical capabilities, he revealed without dialogue that he had traveled at a brisk pace just to relay this message.

"You may have a seat," the headmaster told him.

"Pardon?"

Osmond pointed at a cushioned chair next to a bookshelf on the right wall. "Sit there. I wouldn't want to have to care for an exhausted man."

The messenger nodded gingerly and let his body fall onto the comfort of the seat, enjoying the rest he needed. Whatever it was the Pope had wanted delivered, it was sure was really important for him to have to run miles—carriages and dragons be damned. But he was already here and it was time for his eyes to droop down and...

He was roused from his nap by the headmaster, a new scroll floating in front of him. "Take this to the Pope. It is my response. And at least stop for break on the way."

The messenger nodded, bowing as he took the scroll, and casually strode outside the headmaster's office, much of his energy regained.

Behind him, Osmond made a mental note to inform Colbert of the Pope's offer.

* * *

The luncheon was more of a banquet in comparison to the feast they held during seasonal festivals at Des Orniéres. The meals were diverse and the servants were always around to showcase some form of background talent to amuse those who were invited for the sake of occupying empty seats.

Saito shook off the grim reality of it knowing that it was all to hide the real show. He watched as Malicorne led the Undine Knights in "properly" devouring the main courses which drew a sufficient amount of attention towards them. That was so. The Marshal thought the same, seeing the benefit of a few voracious nobles.

"We have a word for deception," he began, sipping lightly at his wine.

Tabitha inclined her head, having heard her uncle's favorite word. Kirche, too, ended her flirting with a few kisses and followed. All this took place within sight of Henrietta who kept a festive mien as she catered to the attention of the uninvolved nobles.

"What is it?" Saito asked.

"_Maskirovka_," Gorian replied, making sure his Russian sounded very genuine.

Louise crunched her eyes together. "Mas-kee-rof...?"

"Mas-kee-rof-kuh," Saito repeated. "It's a Russian word, isn't it?"

"Russian?"

The Marshal set down the empty wine glass, the liquor having no effect at all. "Yes. It technically means 'disguise' but we use it as part of our military operations. Well, in the Soviet Ground Forces. I don't know if it is still in use beyond that."

"Deception," Tabitha echoed. "The Emperor?"

Gorian made a mental note to learn more about Queen Charlotte. "Exactly. Listen carefully." His eyes ran from face to face—Saito, Louise, Kirche, Tabitha. "Her Majesty has sent a messenger to inform the Emperor of my visit in terms of our 'concerns' over the Site. I will be leaving for Germania later as an emissary for the Alliance. By tomorrow, I would be in Vindobona. If everything would work out, they would be holding their bloodhounds by the leash and we would be able to traverse through the country directly."

His confidence, they saw, was unwavering. But his bold statements did not match the odds that were set against them from the very start.

"How could you be so sure?" Kirche piped. "We Germanians aren't all that easy to bargain with."

The Marshal smirked. "I have my assets. Should they decline, well, we could always go around."

"You know," the redhead began, "when I took this up, I realized that I would be putting my family in danger. The Zerbst name would be at risk."

"We all take risks now," Louise remarked, tapping her shoulder. Had their animosity towards each other remained, then such a gesture would be greatly awkward. But over the past few years, their relationship had since improved. Signficantly. "I threw away my nobility once knowing that I wouldn't be seen the same way again. But then I got it back afterwards."

Kirche smiled and that was enough assurance. Saito jumped back onto the main topic, "So tonight is the point of no return. Either we could go straight across or circle around Germania."

"Yes," Gorian replied, "Like I said: _maskirovka_. Disguise."

"Deception," Tabitha repeated.

* * *

Siesta knew she had disobeyed her masters' orders for the unnumbered time. She believed, though, that it was for their protection. She had to do something to help them. The Queen never gave out any order for her to stay put after all. So that meant that she could go out of her way and—

_What a nice loophole_, she mused. It was a loophole that went unnoticed to the eyes of the Pope who was kind enough to send in someone she knew to escort her to Germania. She had packed all that she needed and explicitly told the appointed caretaker to keep quiet about her little adventure. Well, it was for the best, right? _It is_, she reminded herself.

Emerging from the mansion, she pulled the hood over her head. Julio sat straight, adjusting the passenger's saddle behind his own. The dragon bowed, lowering itself to the ground just enough for Siesta to reach up and straddle onto the leather padding. Her hands found the gullet underneath the horn. Feeling comfortable, she reached back and received her belongings which the dragon knight had so thoughtfully levitated for her.

She waved back at the caretaker and nodded at her escort. Julio barked a command and the dragon raised its wings, leaping into the air and rising high above on the first flap.

As the sun lowered across the horizon, she wondered how Saito and Louise would react to her unannounced presence having eavesdropped long enough on the Ostland to know the general layout of the Marshal's plan. The timing of her actions over concern along with that of the Pope's was coincidental and the offer to take part in the safety net plan was difficult to turn down.

"For Saito," she whispered. It was full of confidence now. There was no turning back; that was what she believed as the orange sky began to fade.

Julio acknowledged her resolve by smiling back at her. "Indeed, for Louise," he added.

* * *

Gorian lifted the receiver on his ham radio, the antenna pulled all the way up at an angle. He flipped on the switch.

"UVB-77, UVB-77. Mikhail, Natasha, Vladimir, Vissarion. UVB-77, UVB-77. Mikhail Natasha, Vladimir, Vissarion."

He paused, hearing only static in his headphones. He waited for another minute before trying again, repeating the mantra that was the binding code for their secret communications with each other. Even then, on his second listen, there was no response. He wondered how long Simon had repeated those words before he finally gave an ear...

He chanted again. And again. And on the fifth try, he was becoming annoyed. "Come on, Semyon..." he mouthed before flipping the receiver on for his sixth attempt.

It was then that he heard the faint interruption on the other end of the line.

"...ignal acknowledged. Yegor, about time you spoke up!"

Gorian nearly yelled into the microphone. "_Yob tvayu mat'_, _dolbayob_! I've been trying to contact you for the past half-hour now."

"The walls were too thick and we just closed down. Calm down, man. I'm here now." He didn't mention the fact that he had just arrived from the Vindobona storehouses.

"Good. Listen, I've been making some preparations, lately."

"Oh? And?"

The Marshal noticed the sarcasm in his tone and guessed at what Semyon was up to this time. "I'm organizing an operation against the Site."

"What!" the Barman barked. "Yegor—"

"It's alright, Semyon. The agents I gathered are reliable and answer only to me."

"You're not thinking of...are you serious?"

"Yes, I am serious." Gorian took a moment to let the stress of the day go with his exhalation. "I told you I would inform you when I'm ready. And I'm almost ready. I just have to make one more step and—"

"Yegor, are you planning a suicide mission?"

"No. Listen to me. We are going in there and we are going to make a surgical strike on that area. Nothing will be left behind to investigate."

He could hear Semyon grunting loudly, preferably rubbing his forehead as he did so. "Didn't you hear what I just said last time? They're here in Vindobona! Now, a surgical strike on Vindobona? Are you mad!?"

"Semyon," the Marshal stated calmly, "do you expect all of them to be able to heft those machinations across miles of bumpy terrain and into some cramped warehouse? Look, some of our tools are still there, still buried in the dirt, waiting to be discovered. We will destroy everything at the site and then move on and destroy the ones at the storehouses. If all else fails, well, we have diplomacy to handle everything."

* * *

Simon stared blankly at the receiver in his hand. He had just heard the wildest plan in his whole life. _And to think winging it against the mujahedeen was crazy._ Without a doubt, Yegor's reputation has gotten to his head and his intentions were now manifesting into something that would demolish the glass floor they were all standing on. He sat motionless and in complete bafflement before he heard the other end cackle with the Marshal's voice.

"...Semyon, are you still with me?"

The Barman flipped the switch. "Acknowledged... Yes, I am."

"Good. After we eliminate the targets, we will then move on and relocate the warheads."

"Wait, wait... What is the time frame for all this?"

"Night time operation, mainly. I will meet with the Emperor tomorrow and bargain for official crossing."

"You're going to lie to the Emperor about that? What are you going to tell him?"

"Oh, a little bit of diplomatic investigation...the Alliance is concerned after all."

Simon could imagine the wry smile forming on Gorian's face on the other end of the line. "Fine. Very well. If that's how you're going to handle things, then go ahead."

"You sound resolved."

"Well, that's because...I've been gathering up the boys. I figured we might need their help if we wanted to make sure none of the nukes get popped."

There was a long silence on the other side. He realized too late that he had not offered the best answer regardless of his how honest it was. The Barman feared the static, dreading that Gorian's anger had bubbled up to a point where thrashing around like a maniac was the second best option to vent out stress. Unexpectedly, he replied back:

"_Maladyets._" Good man. "Is Vassily still okay?"

Slightly shocked by the tranquility of the reply, he responded, "_Da._ Veined but healthy. Has his own fief now, haven't you heard?"

A soft chuckle. "Ah, yes. The _zampolit_ gets the best of everything, no?"

"Yegor, I'm sorry if I..."

"No need to apologize, comrade. I told you before, I gathered up my own unit and you might know them when you meet them."

"What are the details, anyway?"

Gorian went on mechanically for the next fifteen minutes, explaining as concisely as he could. "At the end of it, we will rendezvous with you and the rest; and together with my boys, we dig up the bombs, carry them all the way to the middle of the ocean, and sink them to the seafloor."

Simon pondered the idea. It was wholly feasible but hinged greatly on luck, from his perspective. "Alright, I got it. I'll relay it to the rest of them."

"Who'd you call up?"

"Those who didn't die from old age and sickness. You know who."

The Marshal hummed agreement before abruptly ending the conversation. As Simon sat there in front of his radio inside his makeshift room, he couldn't help but cringe at the possible consequences for any mishap that would occur in the plan. Straightening his back, he felt a chill go up his spine. He just noticed now. For the first time in thirty years, Gorian referred to him as 'comrade'.

That was an indicator in itself—an omen that warned him of something dire.

* * *

Oleg stood, lifting his torch, as the carriage from the East rolled into the compound. "What's in here?"

"More bodies, sir," the stagecoach replied.

He suppressed a smirk. He wasn't supposed to feel any better about this, wasn't he? _Just get on with it_, he commanded himself. "Alright, you know where to drop them."

Oleg followed the carriage to the appropriate building, personally directing the men as they removed the cloth. One of them started to gag. He knew why; the faces of shock and fright forever immortalized on the emaciated faces of his dead comrades.

He pointed inside, the lamps relieving the (_morgue_) storehouse of darkness. "Come on, do your damn jobs!"

The younger men swallowed before manually transferring the corpses from the carriage to the floor. From the catwalk, one could see over a hundred properly arranged bodies, all covered in cloth, lined in rows of tens from one end of the storehouse to the other. Until Germania could figure out how to reorganize this hole into a morgue, he would have to rely on whatever magic preserved these carcasses.

As the final body was removed from the back of the carriage, Oleg strolled to the new arrivals, lifting up the sheets one by one to further inspect the faces, probably to recite their last rites or some cultural incantations as a form of respect. At least, that's what his subordinates thought he was doing.

_Private Dolgov, Corporal Mozhin, Private Saglazov, Private Chukav, Sergeant Raznikiy... _He saw the last corpse being laid next to him. Oleg lifted the cloth. _And Corproal Buloshin... Why have you all come back to haunt us?_

He waited for the boys to leave and when they did—he made a final check to see if he was alone in the whole building—he rummaged through the pockets and crannies of the tattered uniforms. Sure enough, he extracted all their dog-tags as well as Raznikiy's papers which were surprisingly intact.

Turning around, he gave a final look of indignation at the covered faces, the grooves of their noses and cheekbones bulging through the sheets. _Once we're through with everything else, we will have to burn you all...just don't come back ever again, damn you._

"Overseer."

Oleg shined his light in the direction of one of the sentries. "What is it now?"

"We have a pair of visitors. They claim to have been sent by Lord Krasnicht."

He raised his brow. Krasnicht was a familiar name. "Alright, where are they?"

They found them standing by the entrance to his office, dressed in dark mantles. One of them was a woman with colored hair, denoting her capabilities in magic according to his knowledge. They bowed their heads lightly as he approached.

"Who are you and what is your business?"

Wardes was the first to speak. "We were sent by Lord Werner Krasnicht from Vindobona's northern district to collect something of yours."

The former engineer felt the need to reach for his dagger tucked in his belt. Then the lady by his side handed him a small folded paper note. Oleg grabbed it and undid the string that held it together.

His demeanor changed faster than expected, Wardes and Matilda both thought.

* * *

**NOTE: I notice that I'm bring this story on a slow pace. I don't know if it's a good thing or not but I feel that it's necessary to the molding of the plot. Other than that, I might try to speed up a bit just for that non-routine break in the flow.**

**Anyway, I appreciate your reviews and admiration for the story thus far. Feel free to tell me about inconsistencies and the like.**


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